


Kissing Him

by tubbyk



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-05-09 06:04:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14710496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tubbyk/pseuds/tubbyk
Summary: Jealous Aramis. What's not to love?





	1. The Window Opposite

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing a scene in one of my other fics where the muskies are riding along and Porthos is missing Aramis. Occurred to me to reverse the roles and write a fic where Aramis is missing Porthos. Then Aramis got all jealous and petulant and it turned into this….

“I’m not sure he’ll make it through the next nine months.”

“Did you see his face when the captain said it could take longer?”

“Months longer,” said Athos, “Possibly over a year. Yes, I saw his face and the expression that tugs on even my stone cold heart has been etched on it ever since.”

D’Artagnan and Athos glanced over to where Aramis rode, away from them, head down in thought, countenance sombre and glum. 

A rare smile threatened to creep up at the corner of Athos’ mouth. 

“What are your thoughts?” asked d’Artagnan, missing nothing.

Athos sighed. “At times I’ve prayed for divine intervention to shut Aramis up, to stifle his enjoyment of life and to stop him doing his best to infect me with it. Yet now my most fervent wish is to find a way to lift his spirits.”

“Only one thing will do that.”

Athos tilted his head in agreement. 

“Porthos is leagues away from here and not coming back any time soon.”

“How far is Bordeaux from here?” 

“At least two days’ ride.”

D’Artagnan slowed his horse to a halt. 

“Our mission has finished early. We shall return to Paris three days ahead of our expected arrival. If we allow two days to ride to Bordeaux, two days back to Paris, plus a day there to catch up with Porthos we shall only arrive two days late. That’s still within our remit.”

Athos mentally checked his calculations. “Five days extra just to see Porthos.” 

He exhaled heavily, stared at d’Artagnan then looked ahead to where Aramis was riding forward, horse plodding slowly, unaware that his fellow musketeers had even stopped. 

“Five days extra to cheer up our sad little friend. We may well regret it but I think we must do what must be done or else his heavy heart will infect us all.”

 

\----------------

 

Athos did regret it. They summoned Aramis at the crossroads and began to head south rather than north and waited for him to trot up to them then begin to question their directional skills. They let his curiosity simmer and boil into mild irritation then allowed him to hear their plan only when he refused to follow them further until they laid bare their purpose. 

Two hours later and Athos was ready to hang Aramis by his own sash. His mood had turned completely. Now positively buoyant, brimming with enthusiasm and optimism, he chattered and hypothesised and imagined in great flourishy detail the look on Porthos’ face upon seeing their arrival. 

D’Artagnan just smiled, both at Aramis’ overt enthusiasm and Athos’ long-suffering forbearance. 

Already, just merely heading in the direction of Porthos had made the sun come out again. 

 

\-----------

 

It was a close run thing to reach the garrison before nightfall. They got lost, briefly, the waning daylight not helping them get their bearings in the unknown environment, but eventually arrived at the gates, their horses weary yet restless, needing sustenance and shelter after the hard ride. 

Aware that his patience was being tested, and also aware that neither of his friends were going to offer to tend to his horse, Aramis had to do his duty and waste a not inconsiderable amount of time doing what had to be done in the stables. It didn’t stop him from looking over his shoulder every ten seconds to see if Porthos was lurking nearby. 

It was dark, they were all now tired yet impatient and Aramis summoned a young soldier outside the stables to see if he had knew of Porthos’ whereabouts. He didn’t. Neither did the next. The third person Aramis accosted knew of him but didn’t know where he was and the fourth couldn’t rightly say if Porthos was even still stationed there as he hadn’t seen him for weeks. 

Frustrated, Aramis trudged after Athos and d’Artagnan up to the quarters they had been given. A small room, two treacherous flights of stairs up, barely big enough for three bedrolls, a table and two chairs and a small wash basin on the shelf under the window, but still preferable to sleeping out in the open as they had done for nearly all of the past two weeks. 

It was a warm Spring night. D’Artagnan lit lanterns and Athos made straight for the window, pulling the shutters wide open with a clatter, letting the air sweep through and clear out some of the mustiness. D’Artagnan settled one of the lanterns down on the window sill then peered out into the night, eyes scanning the courtyard and the buildings below and opposite, then broke into a big grin. 

“Hey! There he is!” 

He pointed down and Aramis hurried over, breaking into a wide, pleased smile as he saw the familiar form of Porthos walking with purpose along the side of the buildings opposite them in the courtyard. His imposing bulk, the magnificence of his uniform and all its finery was unmistakeable. 

“Porthos!” called d’Artagnan lightly, but he didn’t hear and Aramis clipped him on the back of the head for trying to spoil the surprise in a manner he hadn’t yet sanctioned. 

“Let’s see where he goes then we can follow him and stage an ambush.”

As it happened, Porthos was not going far. He rapped three times on the door of the building directly opposite then stood back and waited. The doorway was dark but Aramis could make out the form of a man opening the door and welcoming Porthos in with a sweep of his hand. 

“Let’s go over,” began d’Artagnan after a minute, but was interrupted as lanterns were lit on the floor level with theirs. 

“No, wait.”

Aramis was watching as Porthos’ shadowy, backlit form strode into view. He stood back from the window, took off his hat and fiddled with it, rolling the rim around again and again in his hands.

“He’s nervous,” murmured Aramis, words that weren’t really meant for any other ears. 

Athos cast him a sideways glance. 

“How on earth can you tell that from way over here?” asked d’Artagnan. 

“The hat. He only ever twirls his hat like that when he’s nervous.”

“Well he must be very nervous then because that hat’s spinning like a whirling dervish.”

“Shhh, look!”

Another figure stepped into their line of sight, framed by the window, lights flickering brightly in the room behind him. He faced Porthos and the two seemed to be having a conversation. Then the man reached forward and took Porthos’ hat from his hands and seemed to throw it behind him. 

Something ….. _something_ ….. made Aramis dig his fingernails into the splintering wood of the window frame. _Something_ …. made a shiver ripple unpleasantly up Aramis’ spine. 

The conversation continued. It seemed to be one-sided. The man gestured, sometimes with unnecessary flourishes ( Aramis thought, and as the master of unnecessary flourishes he felt himself able to judge with authority) and Porthos seemed to just stand there, listening, absorbing. If he was speaking then he was doing so undemonstratively, which pleased Aramis to an irrational and absurd degree. 

Then the man reached forward and fixated on something on Porthos’ shoulder. He fiddled, one-handed, then a strap came loose and a familiar shape was removed and thrown in the same direction as his hat. 

“Maybe he’s getting reprimanded?” ventured d’Artagnan. “Stripped of his hat, next his pauldron. I wonder what will go ne …. _Oh my goodness!!!_ ”

All three musketeers saw it. 

The man turned back to Porthos after removing his pauldron, then reached out a hand and placed it on his chest. The hand then slid up to cup the back of his neck. The man stepped forward, closed the space between them, leaned up and without further hesitation kissed Porthos. 

Aramis stared. 

Then simple as you like, Porthos wrapped those giant arms around the man and kissed him back. 

Aramis felt eyes either side of him staring, first at the window opposite, then at him, boring into the part of his soul containing the innermost desires and fears one doesn’t ever share. The world spun, the air was sucked out of his lungs, leaving him breathless. 

“I think Aramis needs some water,” observed Athos. A beat, then, “d’Artagnan! Water!”

The young musketeer blustered and went to get a cup, but not without staring agog one last time at the continuing kiss. 

Athos made a noise and went to close the window shutters. Aramis held up a hand, stopping the shutter in front of him before it could close, stunned gaze still firmly affixed across the way. They both pushed on either side of the shutter, against each other, gently at first, increasingly stronger as the seconds passed. 

“Aramis, move away from the window,” warned Athos, not angrily, but with an insistence that held a modicum of authority. He huffed as his instructions were ignored. “Aramis, this is doing no-one any good. Stop looking, move away and ….”

Athos kept one hand on his side of the half open ( half-closed?) shutters and with the other went to soothe Aramis with a hand to his shoulder, intending to calm the situation. However as the hand passed in front of his line of sight, Aramis lashed out with the closest weapon available – his teeth – and all hell broke loose. 

It was frightfully unseemly, especially for musketeers. Aramis bit Athos’ finger, Athos yelped and slammed the shutter forward, jamming Aramis’ hand hard between it and the window ledge. D’Artagnan had helpfully arrived with the cup of water and received a head-butt to the nose as Aramis howled in pain and threw himself back. Punches were thrown, curses were made, a rough scuffle occurred where nobody really cared who the recipient was. It all culminated in a three-way headlock/leglock/faceplant stalemate, the struggle continuing for many minutes until all three froze when the door shook from a fist knocking heavily on the outside.

Nobody said anything inside the room, but outside voices muttered and then floorboards creaked – people moved away, back down the stairs. There was a moment of silence then the door opened. 

Porthos’ form filled the doorway, looming large and intimidating above them, eyebrows raised, mouth agape at the scene. 

“You three wanna tell me what the hell you’re doing here and what on earth is going on?”

Nobody spoke and Porthos stepped over their forms to the window, quickly moving to close the shutters, only pausing at the last minute to stare out, to see, to imagine the view they had taken in of the window opposite, the lanterns still illuminating the room he had been in, shining out into the night. 

“Oh god. No.”

Porthos slammed shut the window and held onto the frame for a moment, forehead leaning onto the woodwork, eyes shut tight. 

“I have no idea why you’re here. The Captain would court martial you if he knew, so he certainly didn’t send you.” Porthos butted his head against the window twice, then turned his head slightly and peered at them through one eye. 

“Please tell me you didn’t see ….?”

Athos held Porthos’ gaze with his usual morose inscrutability. D’Artagnan pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows high and feigned innocence. And Aramis …. well, he was an open book to Porthos of course, all his rage and confusion and astonishment laid bare and exposed in his expression. 

“No, no, no. This isn’t happening.” 

Porthos bashed his head against the window again for good measure then turned his back to them and paced the room. The big musketeer had plenty of emotions, but like him they were large, smooth and open. His anger rolled large, it raged and encompassed; his mirth reverberated out, laughter filling rooms with its splendorous boom. But here, Porthos was flustered, he muttered and cursed and paced and fretted, all the while with his back to them. 

“We thought,” began d’Artagnan, feigning chirpiness, “that we would pay you a visit. The opportunity arose and here we are. We’ve missed you!”

Athos nodded, concurring. “Very much, my friend. Paris is in mourning until you return.”

Porthos locked his eyes on Aramis, who stayed silent, still breathing hard, unable to think straight, least of all articulate his feelings. 

“Aramis?”

He looked at the window, recalling what he’d seen, still not believing. 

“This was a big mistake. We shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Aramis untangled himself from Athos and d’Artagnan and pushed himself to standing, turning away from both Porthos and the window. As he moved to open the door Porthos reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. 

Any of the musketeers would have been proud of the punch, even Porthos, who took it fully on the jaw, completely unprepared, head jerking back at the monstrous blow and falling to the floor in an ungainly heap next to Athos. 

Aramis shook his right hand out, clearly in pain, then roughly yanked the door open and fled down the stairs.


	2. New Tricks

Porthos was still shaking his head to clear the aftermath of spots and stars swimming around in his skull when he saw the horses shifting nervously in the stable. He hung a lantern on a hook above the saddles and shifted to the second to last stable where the restless horses either side perked their ears in distrust, snorted and stirred.

He leaned against the corner post, manipulating his jaw to make sure it still worked before he attempted to talk. 

“That was quite a hello.”

Aramis was wedged back into the far corner of the stall, arms wrapped around himself, fists still clenched, one lot of knuckles split and bleeding. He looked mutinous, his eyes still dark and wild, mimicking the extreme turbulence of his hair.

Porthos tried a different approach. 

“I wish you’d sent a message to tell me you were coming.”

“Oh I really do bet you wish that. Do you love him?”

Porthos looked incredulous at being asked such a question. 

Aramis looked incredulous that the words gnawing at his heart had actually left his mouth. But at the lack of an answer, he demanded heatedly, “Well? Do you?”

“You are ridiculous, ya know that?”

“I’m not the one going around kissing random men.”

“Random men? Really? Okay, you need to stop this now.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“That’s because it was a stupid question.”

“It’s the first thing you asked me when you found out about the Queen.”

Porthos barked out a cynical laugh. 

“That’s completely different.”

“Is it?”

Porthos took a step closer, noting the intensity of the glare staring back at him. 

“Aramis. You need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Just answer me. Do. You. Love. Him?”

“No.” 

The answer was instant this time. Firm. Something coiled nasty and tight inside Aramis loosened just a teensy bit. He tried not to exhale too loudly. 

“But you kissed him.”

“As you saw.”

Aramis studied Porthos closely. He watched the chin tilt back, not defiantly, but certainly with an element of resistance. 

“You’ve kissed him before.”

It was a statement, not a question, but they both understood that Porthos was expected to elaborate. Instead he crossed his arms, gave Aramis a single long look, then lowered his gaze off to the side, unable to meet his eyes. 

Aramis tried for a light laugh but it came out bitter and sour. 

“Well, I came here to surprise my best friend but it looks like I’m the one who is going to leave here completely in shock.”

He went to move past Porthos, who put a giant arm out across his chest to stop him. 

“Aramis, you have no idea what is going on.”

It was Aramis’ turn to cross his arms and avert his gaze. 

“I know enough to understand that I can’t be here. Can’t be witness to you ….”

Porthos sighed and sidestepped in front of Aramis, then held on to both his shoulders to stop him moving away. 

“Stop and listen to me for a minute. You don’t know what’s going on here.”

Seeing Aramis’ hands bunch up into fists, Porthos growled and gave him a shake. 

“Oi, I’m warning you. I won’t go down again if you punch me, and I promise you I’m not gonna lose if we fight.”

“There you are!” 

D’Artagnan rounded the corner of the stables with Athos following close behind. They looked between their friends, made a quick assessment then stole a knowing look at each other. 

Porthos cleared his throat at them then gave a pointed look at Aramis. 

“I have to go and speak to someone. He’ll be told that musketeers from Paris arrived at the gate asking about me so I can’t lie. I’ll tell him you came with a message, an enquiry from the king to see how the war fares. Keep to that story if anybody asks you your purpose here. And make sure that one there doesn’t go anywhere but back up to your room,” he added, nodding at Aramis. “I won’t be long. You all need to understand what’s going on.”

 

\--------

 

When Porthos returned to their room he was flushed and breathless. Nobody had the nerve to ask him why or the constitution to hear the answer if one had been offered. 

A glance at Aramis sitting hunched down on his haunches in the corner with his head turned away from his friends told Porthos that not a lot had changed. 

He grimaced and glared at all of them, but saved a few savage words for his friend by the wall. 

“I don’t have time for this distraction or for your histrionics, Aramis. Last year our brothers were murdered in Bordeaux. Ambushed as they drank and dined in the inn. The doors were locked, the place set on fire. Fifteen musketeers and cadets burned alive.”

“We remember, of course,” muttered Athos darkly, scowling. “What of it?”

“Treville thinks that General Dulac set it up.”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“You’ve seen him too,” Porthos corrected, nodding at the window. “His profile anyway.”

Porthos shot a quick look at Aramis who glanced up at him briefly, frowning. 

“We need proof of his treachery. Evidence of what he’s done and what he’s going to do next. Dulac is clever. If our Captain is right he’s been feeding information to the Spanish for a very long time. Playing both sides. It’s almost impossible to get close to him.” 

Here Porthos paused, his confident delivery faltering. 

“He has what you might call …. _exotic_ …. tastes. Specific preferences.”

Aramis was standing up now, blinking at the realisation, then staring wide-eyed at Porthos. “My god. And Treville asked you to ….” 

Porthos shook his head. “Treville told me what he suspected. He told me all about Dulac. I made the decision to accept the mission to come here and try to gain his confidence. Nobody forced me.”

“But you’re expected to ….”

“Fifteen men, Aramis! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do anything you could if you could take revenge for the massacre of Savoy. To stop it from happening again!”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked d’Artagnan.

“I didn’t want to have any awkward conversations like the one we’re having now,” admitted Porthos, wryly. 

“So what has he made you do?” 

Porthos pursed his lips and refused to answer, giving Aramis a censorious look for such a blatant question. 

D’Artagnan coughed and said quickly, “I’m sure Porthos can look after himself and not do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Have we blown your cover?” asked Athos.

“Nah. He bought the story. You’re here with a message from the king and I told him you’ll be gone again in the morning.”

“We can’t leave you here.” Aramis sounded stricken. 

“Athos, perhaps we should tend to the horses if we have a long ride tomorrow?”

The look d’Artagnan received from Athos was withering, as the horses had well and truly been looked after, but he took the hint, rose with a sigh and exited the room with one last hard look at Porthos and Aramis. 

Porthos squared off in front of his friend. 

“There. Happy?”

Aramis clearly was not and said so with force. 

“Perhaps you’d rather I was sent alone to the frontlines. Battle muskets and swords and cannons.”

“I think I’d be more confident of your safety, yes.”

Porthos smiled but it was more of a grimace and he raised his eyes up to the dirty wooden ceiling. 

“I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Has he hurt you?” The question was soft and sincere and it made Porthos stifle a groan and turn away, shaking his head. 

“Course not.”

“If he’s forced you to do anything ….”

“Aramis!” Porthos spun back and held both his hands up, splayed. “We are not going to talk about this.”

There was silence for a long moment, both men gathering their thoughts, averting their eyes. 

“So how have you been? I hope everyone’s been well at the garrison?” asked Porthos stiffly.

Aramis gave him a disbelieving glare and pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “No, Porthos, you don’t get to stand here asking polite questions like you’re interviewing a frail old fishwife, pretending we didn’t just see you kissing a man.”

“Well nothing I say is right. What do you want me to say that will make any of this easier? Nothing can erase what you saw. Nothing I say seems to make it any better for you. I kissed a man. Big deal. You’ve seen me kiss a lot of other people before.”

“Not that many.”

“Hey!”

“And none of them men.”

“Bloody hell, Aramis. What does it matter who I kiss, especially if it's for a good cause?”

Aramis had turned away but Porthos heard his words clearly enough. 

“It matters.”

“Why?”

Shaking his head, Aramis muttered, “You know why,” and slumped back against the wall, sullenly staring at Porthos. 

Some things are unspoken, but understood. Lines and boundaries are set, never to be crossed. That Aramis had somehow stepped over that line and had forced them to discuss a topic both felt was best kept hidden put them both on edge. 

Porthos crossed the room and put a hand on the wall by Aramis’ head, leaning forward heavily and forcing himself into his space. 

His voice was low and soft. “Fifteen dead men, burned alive, ‘Mis. That’s what made me do it. Nothing else. Not love, not feelings, not adventure. It’s a mission. I fit the bill. It’s my choice. And it’s working.”

“But knowing what he’s done. How he betrayed us. Killing all those men in such a dishonourable way. How can you touch him, kiss him?”

Porthos paused then said simply, “I pretend it’s someone else.”

Aramis stared at him and digested that for a moment. 

“The lovely Alice perhaps?” he ventured tentatively.

Porthos had the good grace to smile and said, “I don’t think she’d appreciate the comparison. Not with all the whiskers involved.” His smile softened as he watched Aramis, his usually composed friend now unsure, unhappy and unnerved again. 

“’Mis, of all the hairy, stubbled, whiskery men in the world that I could pretend I was kissing, if I had to choose one to actually kiss, you know who my choice would be.”

It was a gamble and it didn’t cheer Aramis up. He stared back at Porthos for a long beat then put a hand to his heart and turned away from Porthos, initially to the window then quickly away from that raw memory, ending up wedged in the opposite corner, facing he wall, slumping down slightly with his hand still held tight to his chest as if in pain. 

“Are you going to leave with us tomorrow?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Then it doesn’t matter who you want to be kissing because you’ll only be kissing him. And I can’t watch it or think of it because it rips a hole in my chest to even consider you doing that.”

Aramis tensed as he sensed Porthos crossing the room behind him.

“I’ll be back in Paris as soon as I have the information to nail him.”

“That could take forever.”

“It won’t. I’m close.”

“It will seem like forever.”

“I know.”

Aramis felt a hand drop tentatively onto his shoulder but he shrugged it off.

“No hugs then?”

Aramis shook his head but knew Porthos was still standing close. 

“Porthos?”

“What?”

“Is he a good kisser?”

Aramis couldn’t help himself and couldn’t ignore the appropriate growl by his left ear he received in response. 

“Well, is he?”

“I’m not answering those sorts of questions.”

“I need to know.”

“No you don’t.”

Aramis took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he asked, “Then will you ….will you … show me some day? When you return to Paris?”

There was another growl by his ear but this one wasn’t instigated by anger. It reverberated in Aramis’ ear and tingled its way down through his body, settling somewhere around his balls. 

Porthos’ arms settled on the wall either side of Aramis’ head and his breath was warm and ticklish as he leant close behind him and rumbled, “Tell me what you want me to show you.”

“Everything.” Aramis found it hard to breathe. “Everything he does to you I want you to do to me. I want to feel everything you’ve felt.”

“Tell me why?” Porthos’ lips brushed ever so lightly over his neck. 

“Because that’s the only way I’ll know how mad I should be at you.”

Porthos withdrew his lips and roared with laughter. He couldn’t help it. And Aramis let himself chuckle and smile for the first time since he saw a fateful silhouette in the opposite window. He slipped under Porthos’ arm and stepped back but faced him, still grinning.

After Porthos’ laughter died out he wiped his eyes and studied Aramis carefully. 

“We good now?”

Aramis shrugged and tilted his head. _Maybe_. 

“Good enough to give me a hug now?”

“No. I’ll come undone and never let you go and I’ll never let you stay here if I start to break apart.”

“So a demonstration kiss as advance payment for my return is out of the question?”

Aramis shivered and turned away again. “Don’t joke. It’s too soon and too far away all at the same time.” 

“You’re not gonna back out of this deal, are you?”

“No. No. It will keep me ….grounded … until you return. Give me something to concentrate on rather than obsessing over what you’re doing.”

Seeing Porthos’ dubious expression, Aramis chuckled and wiped a hand over his tired eyes. 

“Shifting though a thousand emotions in one evening is exhausting work, my friend. You have worn me out.” Before Porthos could protest his blame in Aramis’ swinging emotions, Aramis opened the door and peered down the steep steps to the bottom of the flight where d’Artagnan and Athos perched uncomfortably, having few other places to safely go. 

“Come, Porthos. Our friends look tired but I’m sure we can bring them inside and settle down to some wine and a long-awaited game of cards before we rest.” 

D’Artagnan ran up the stairs, glad to be allowed back inside and Athos trudged behind him, slower but no less pleased for their exile from the room to have ended. 

“Did I hear someone say cards?” D’Artagnan clapped his friends each on the shoulder on the way in. 

“One can hope that your propensity for cheating has waned since you left Paris,” stated Athos as he copied the gesture and patted both of them on the chest on the way through the door. 

D’Artagnan laughed. “More likely we’ll find that Porthos has learned even more ways to cheat.”

Porthos feigned outrage and said pompously. “I’ve learned a lot of new tricks, but the great thing is that I get to practice them all when I get back to Paris.” 

He saw Aramis shiver and couldn’t hide a wolfish grin as he picked up the cards. 

“Whose deal is it first, ‘Mis?”

“The cards are definitely all in your capable hands, my dear Porthos.”


	3. Show Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos returns to Paris to show Aramis exactly how he was seduced by ~~General Dulac~~ \- sorry, by _Him_.

Somehow, Treville had advance warning of Porthos’ arrival. Somehow, that information trickled down to Athos, who informed d’Artagnan, who couldn’t help smiling widely as he saw the myriad of emotions flicker across Aramis’ face as he told him the news. 

Any missions involving Aramis that may have been planned were delayed, fobbed off or abandoned as he made it clear that he intended to sit and wait at the garrison so as not to miss the exact moment when Porthos returned. 

And so it was that when Porthos rode in through the garrison gateway the first person he saw was Aramis, perched on the corner of the Inseparable’s bench cleaning his already gleaming arquebus with the utmost care and attention. 

Porthos knew Aramis had seen him arrive. He saw the little glance up from under his hat, felt, rather than noticed the hidden, pleased grin, and watched as his stance changed, straightened, and positively quivered with thrumming tension even as he tried to relax. 

The first person to greet Porthos was the stable boy. The first person to pat him on the back was Marceau, one of the other musketeers. The first person to engage him in conversation, querying his mission, was Jacque, a cadet. And the first person to give him a giant, heartfelt hug, was d’Artagnan, with Athos not far behind. 

And all the while, Porthos kept his gaze riveted on the man sitting on the bench who kept cleaning his weapons and steadfastly refused to look up and directly meet his gaze. 

Athos followed the line of his sight and scoffed, patting Porthos on the shoulder and shaking his head at the game. 

D’Artagnan laughed aloud and called out to Aramis to force him to respond. 

Aramis finally looked up with a beatific expression, smiling as he pretended to spot Porthos for the first time.

“Ah, Porthos, how lovely of you return to us. If only we’d known, we might have prepared a proper welcome for you.

The meticulously-cleaned weapon, Porthos noticed with a wry grin, was still being polished. 

“It’s a wonder there is any detail left on that after all the cleaning you’ve been doing to it this week,” observed Athos, receiving a sour glare from Aramis and a delighted laugh from d’Artagnan.

“One can’t hurry these tasks” mused Aramis, “If you treasure something you treat it as precious. You look after it and tend to its needs, you keep it close and you never, ever let it out of your sight.”

Athos raised a single eyebrow high. “Or else your weapon will run off on a mission and end up kissing someone who is not you?”

Even Aramis could barely keep up his outrage and refrain from joining in the laughter.

“I have the most interminable friends,” he announced, sliding off the edge of the table and waiting for their mirth to finish. 

“Porthos, you lot, up here now,” demanded Treville, summoning them from the balcony above. 

 

\------------------------------

 

Aramis held open the door to his room for Porthos then shut and bolted it firmly behind him. He stayed leaning against the door for a minute, gathering his feelings, then turned and rested his back against it, exhaling and looking at Porthos. 

“Come ‘ere.” Porthos deposited a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table then moved forward to collect him in his arms but Aramis held out a hand to stop him. 

“Three and a half months. Nearly fifteen weeks. That’s how long I’ve played out this moment in my mind. Replays and re-imaginings, over and over in my head. Every time I thought of you, of what you might be doing, of what _He_ might be doing to you …. I think of this. Of you coming back to me, being here, just the two of us, in my room. And I dream of this moment because that will mean that it’s over and you’re safe and he won’t touch you again.”

Porthos studied Aramis soberly then nodded, understanding.

“He’s being brought to Paris, to the Bastille. With the charges they’re going to lay, I expect he’ll have a quick trial and an even quicker death. Then there will be no more General Dulac for either of us to worry about.”

A shadow of a frown passed over Aramis’ face, not missed by Porthos. 

“What’s wrong?”

"I know it's silly but please don't say his name. I can't bear it." Hesitant, quiet, knowing it was an equally silly question to ask but asking it anyway, Aramis wondered, “Will you mourn his passing?”

“’Mis, you’re still asking me if I care?” Porthos grimaced and shook his head. “Fifteen dead musketeers. I could spend a thousand years being his lover and for every second of those despise the traitorous coward.”

The word _‘lover’_ made them both flinch but the answer seemed to partially satisfy Aramis for he nodded and summoned up what could only be described as an unhappy smile at Porthos. 

“Jealousy is a dreadful thing. Even of this man who I know you despise, who I know as only a silhouette through a distant window. I have much experience with affairs of the heart but jealousy has never been on my palette. It burns me so terribly.”

He held up his hand again when Porthos made to step forward. 

“No, no hugs. That’s not how this is going to play out. But I just want you to know that I have missed you, so much so that I fear my chest is twisted in a knot that can never be eased undone. So many strong, new emotions for me, my friend. And all because of one simple kiss. All the battles we’ve fought and the wounds we’ve suffered and nothing has ever laid me as low, as quickly as an unexpected kiss by candlelight.”

“I’m sorry,” grumbled Porthos. “If I’d arrived back here now and you had no idea what my mission was about, I may have told you everything and we may have laughed about it. Or maybe I wouldn’t have told you. Or maybe I would have lied …?”

Aramis gave him a pointed look, which made Porthos chuckle. 

“Okay, so I can’t lie to you, so perhaps I just wouldn’t have told you. Said it was confidential.”

“That would have made me terribly suspicious and desperate to know the crux of the mission. I would have prised the truth from you eventually.”

“So you would, _mon ami_. I can’t keep anything from you. I suspect it’s why the Captain wanted to keep me away from you before I departed on this mission.”

Porthos wrapped his arms around himself because he wasn’t allowed to wrap them around Aramis and was silent for a minute, composing his thoughts. 

“I’d die for any of you, for any of my friends. Lay down my life without a second’s hesitation. But since I’ve been away, doing ….what I had to do ….it’s you I kept thinking of, Aramis. I missed you so badly.” 

“I have remembered to think of you once or twice,” admitted Aramis and they both chuckled, acknowledging the understatement. 

“And have you remembered what you asked me to show you on my return to Paris?” 

After asking the question, Porthos tilted his head back and pursed his lips, waiting, holding his breath. 

Aramis raised his eyebrows high and gestured at the door. 

“Is it usual for me to lock it when I have only you for company?”

“Mmm. Not that I can remember.” 

Porthos chewed his bottom lip and studied Aramis carefully. 

“So we’re gonna do this?”

“We’re going to do something, but you have the advantage of knowing exactly what _‘this’_ is.” Aramis licked his lips again, his eyes glittering dark and on high alert. “You are the one with all the knowledge. All I have is my imagination. My very overworked, wild, extremely vivid imagination.”

That made Porthos chuckle. Then his mood sobered again and he regarded Aramis thoughtfully.

“Don’t do this for the sake of doing it or purely to spite Dula … to spite _him_. I won’t do anything unless you want it. Unless … unless you want me.”

“I can honestly say that there is only one person I’m focussed on right now and that definitely isn’t him.”

“Alright then.”

Aramis nodded, but as Porthos made to step forward he held out a halting hand. 

“I want you to show me exactly how it played out. What he did, what you did, what you thought, how you felt. I want to know everything. I want to feel it too.” 

Porthos filled his chest with more emotion than air then nodded on the exhale. 

“When did he first … proposition you? Where were you standing? Or were you sitting? Did you think it was going to happen?”

It occurred to Porthos as he looked at Aramis’ earnest, tension-filled face that even now, Aramis was determined to take charge, asking questions, setting the urgent pace. 

He gave him a crooked grin and shook his head. 

“Well, as you can imagine, I was a bundle o’ nerves so instead of taking things calmly I kept on firing off a heap of questions and babbling nonsense to try to delay what was gonna happen.”

It took a few seconds, then Aramis huffed and unfolded his arms, planting his hands on his hips in a more familiar stance. He crinkled his nose and stared up at Porthos, who uncorked the wine bottle with his teeth and was glancing up at him with extreme amusement in between pouring two large glasses of wine. 

“Fine. Point taken, I shall try to calm my nerves and cease wittering and making demands,” demurred Aramis as he accepted a glass, took a deep breath and raised it to clink against Porthos’. 

They sipped and assessed each other thoughtfully.

Porthos emptied his glass in one go then gestured at Aramis as he put it down on the table. 

“How you feelin’?” 

“Like a tiny, defenceless kitten facing a large, ferocious hound for the very first time.” At Porthos’ chastising look Aramis shrugged and took another sip of his wine, “Nerves are not something I’m used to. Not like this. When we prepare for battle I feel them but it’s different. I’m still in control, I’m ready and prepared. I know myself and all my strengths and weaknesses. I know basically what to expect. But here I feel as if I’ve been cut adrift and I’m floating, powerless, waiting with an anticipation that hovers between dread and excitement.”

“Dread?” scoffed Porthos. 

“Was it not the same for you?”

Something in the tone paused Porthos’ reaction. He blew out his intended words then followed his huff with a softer tone of reflection. 

“I’m bein’ overly tough on you, cos, yeah, the anticipation was terrible. I was petrified.” He paused and took a step forward, giving a conciliatory shrug. “Guess it’s just strange hearing you talk of dreading me.”

“I’m not dreading _you_. I’m dreading what was done to you and what you’re going to do to me.”

“Christ, Aramis, listen to you. I’d never hurt you. I’d never do anything to cause you grief or pain or anxiety. Our friendship means too much to me to risk it over something we don’t even have to do.”

Aramis nodded and ran a hand through his hair, then played with a solitary curl.

“I know we don’t have to do anything but it seem to me that if we do nothing – if we don’t even kiss – then we’ll always be wondering.” He looked up at Porthos and amended with a wry grin, “Well, _I’ll_ always be wondering.”

The corner of Porthos’ mouth quirked up. 

“So a kiss to start then? Then we'll see if it's enough to satisfy your curiosity?”

“A kiss,” stated Aramis, agreeing with a firm nod of his head. 

Raising a sceptical eyebrow, Porthos reached for the wine bottle then refilled Aramis’ glass, then his own. He stepped back and placed the bottle on the table then approached again, swirling the dark liquid thoughtfully. On reaching Aramis he offered his glass for Aramis to hold. Then Porthos stood before him with folded arms and regarded Aramis, who held both glasses out questioningly. 

Porthos smiled. 

“You wanted to know how it all happened? Well, it was much as this has played out, with you standin’ now where I was then. I was nervous and tense, jumping every time he spoke, tryin’ to predict what was gonna happen at his every movement. Then, somehow, I found myself standing there in the middle of his room, holding two full wine glasses and not quite understanding the purpose of it all.”

Aramis pouted and elevated the glasses again, arms wide. 

“Feel free to enlighten me at any time, won’t you?”

Porthos didn’t speak but he nodded and made a low, gratuitous noise, then moved forward in a single motion, slid one hand around Aramis’ waist and cupped his jaw with the other, then kissed him before Aramis had time to protest or speak. 

The kiss wasn’t overly rough, nor was it gentle. But it was firm, full of intent, all-encompassing and possessive. 

Aramis was definitely not new to the art of kissing, nor to being on the receiving end of a seduction, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting a kiss this evening, but despite it all, the exact moment and manner surprised him and diverted all his senses. 

This was Porthos. Porthos kissing him. Porthos fanning his fingers out along his jaw, up past his ear and into his hair, tugging lightly as his other hand traced the contours of his back and spine with increasing pressure as the kiss deepened. 

And Aramis could not return the favour fully because he was holding two full glasses of wine, one in each hand, wavering precariously in the air as he fought against dropping them and losing himself – and his hands – entirely to the kiss. 

A knowing chuckle broke deep in Porthos’ throat and he drew back to look at Aramis with amusement in his eyes. 

“Frustrating, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t a question and Aramis suddenly understood. 

“This is what he did to you? Made you hold the wine glasses?”

“It’s not a bad trick,” admitted Porthos, pushing one of Aramis’ wayward curls out of the way then giving him an innocent look before tentatively swooping in to kiss his jaw.

“Porthos!” 

“Mmmm?”

Porthos withdrew his lips and his hands and stood back, clearly pleased at being the cause of Aramis’ ruffled demeanour. 

Aramis gave him a glare but Porthos was fully aware of the dilation of his eyes and the quickening of his breathing. He watched with interest as Aramis stomped over to the table and placed both glasses of wine down on the table, then composed himself for a moment before turning. 

Before Porthos could say or do anything Aramis stepped forward, flung his arms around his neck and proceeded to pull him into a long bruising kiss. 

They were both breathless when they came up for air. 

Porthos pouted. 

“I thought you were letting _me_ show you what happened?” he chided, even as he leaned in to taste Aramis’ lips again. 

It was some time before Aramis was able to free his mouth to answer, but when he did he feigned innocence and asked with breathless surprise, “Oh, was it not like this then?”

Porthos snorted and ruffled Aramis’ hair in a way which he knew would cause consternation.

“You know it wouldn’t have been like that because it wasn’t you I was kissing.”

It was Aramis’ turn to be pleased. 

“I do believe that’s the correct answer.” 

They kissed again, so long in coming but now never enough.

“You taste nice,” murmured Porthos. 

“As do you, my friend.” Then Aramis added quietly, “Did _he_?”

Porthos frowned. 

“I’m not sure. It was too much of a shock. I wasn’t sure what a man should taste like to kiss, but here, now, I guess I know for sure.”

Aramis nodded, satisfied with something.

“I feel as if we’ve been side-tracked enough although I would very much like to continue where we left off later on. Let us get back to your narrative. He gave you the wine glasses, kissed you, and ….?”

“Well, I was pretty shocked, and for a while there I thought I was going to have to drop the wine glasses – either because I was gonna flee or because I needed to do to him what he was doing to me just to get it over and done with as quick as possible.”

“I don’t like the thought of him manhandling you.” 

As Porthos went to reply to that, Aramis added, “Even less do I like the thought of you manhandling him.

“Shouldn’t that be the other way ‘round?”

“No,” said Aramis after a moment’s thought. “You tell me you were there for a purpose. And I know you could and would have stopped him if it were too much. But I hate the thought that you somehow found it – found him – desirable enough to have returned his affections.”

A blush of colour tinted Porthos’ cheeks, but he stood his ground with Aramis and jabbed a finger forward, not aggressive, but firm. 

“You’re not gonna like this but I’m gonna quote you. You once told me that you don’t get all the women you want, but you get all the women who want you. Ain’t that right?”

“I … well ….” Porthos smirked as he saw the cogs turning while Aramis stumbled to anticipate how his own argument might be used against him. Aramis folded his arms and glared. “Go on then. Tell me how something I once said can be applied to your logic.”

“It’s nothin’ to do with logic. There are women you love and women who love you. Either way, you oblige them, but I’m guessin’ the kisses you share with the women who have your heart are way sweeter than the ones you have with the women who you oblige, but that’s not to say those kisses aren’t also sweet.”

“Your point is …?

“I was doin’ my duty kissin’ Dulac – sorry, kissin’ _him_ ….an’ I don’t feel anything at all emotionally, but the kisses and the things he did to me weren’t … well, they weren’t exactly completely ….unpleasant.”

This time the blush flooded right up to the tips of his ears. 

Aramis had his arms wrapped tight around himself and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he watched, listened and interpreted. 

“The things he did to you, hmmm?” 

“An’ the things he had me do to him,” Porthos clarified, still flushed.

Aramis made a noise of displeasure and huffed when Porthos raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this evening so much yet it’s turning out to be pleasure interspersed with extreme irritation.”

“Irritation and perhaps a slight bit of that jealousy you mentioned before?” ventured Porthos with not a small bit of amusement. 

“There’s no need to tease me. You’re fully aware of my feelings where both you and he are concerned,” sniffed Aramis, planting his hands on his hips and stepping forward into Porthos’ space again.

“Right. Enough. Tell me what happened next. He gave you the wine glasses, kissed you, and ….”

“Well, after we kissed he took the wine glasses from me and put them on the table.” Porthos gestured over to where Aramis had already put the glasses. “Then he walked back over to me and kissed me again, but this time my hands were free as well, so I guess you could say that the second kiss was much more exploratory.”

“Hmmph. We’ve already sort of covered that bit.”

“We could go over it again though,” suggested Porthos politely, “You know, just in case we missed anything the first time.”

Porthos’ expression was so blatantly hopeful that it made Aramis chuckle. 

“Perhaps we _should_ repeat that part, just in case we missed anything.”

They were both grinning when their mouths came together for the kiss, arms wrapping around the other without hesitation now, kisses firm and filled with intent. 

Aramis couldn’t keep his hands off Porthos and had to fight to control himself to lay his hands flat and still on the barrel of a chest. He implored breathlessly, “Please tell me that what happened next was just as good?”

Porthos looked up with the most wolfish smile Aramis had ever seen and one of his hands left Aramis’ hips and trailed a torturous path up past his side, his stomach, his chest and rested on the tips of one of his shirt ties.

“Well,” Porthos said, and his voice sounded low and thick with promise, “What happened next was that he undressed me and stripped me of every single skerrick of clothing, which from where I’m standin’ now, lookin' at you, is right near the top of the scale of good.”

Pulling the tie down excruciatingly slowly until the knot came undone, Porthos made a growl of appreciation at the small area of skin it revealed, then dropped his hand down to the next tie. Aramis gulped and felt some relief as Porthos bent in for a kiss, but at the last moment he diverted his lips to Aramis’ ear and held his lips there for some time, breathing slowly, in and out, warm air caressing Aramis’ ear and sending a shiver of anticipation through him that seemed to end up congregating in his balls.

“Yeah,” purred Porthos, “You’re 'bout ready as you’ll ever be for what’s coming next.”


End file.
